


if you leave

by jeanjosten



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 23:25:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13914393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanjosten/pseuds/jeanjosten
Summary: Some days, it’s harder than others for Neil not to run away. And then, one day, it’s a little too hard.Kevin wakes up alone in his bed and he thinks perhaps Neil won’t be coming back this time.





	if you leave

**Author's Note:**

> Originally [posted on tumblr](https://wesninskids.tumblr.com/post/170829407567/hey-hi-hello-im-jersey-im-here-to-share-my).  
> Inspired by tumblr user kevinseil’s ask.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s everywhere, in everything.

He’d done a good job so far at convincing himself he could live like this, but it was a naïve and childish thing to do—one can simply stay at the same place for so long when the only life they’ve ever known is… nothing. Is run and hide. Is run for your life. Is run—run, run, run—as fast as you can, and never turn back. Of course the idea of it had made him sick, countless times; and once he’d had to rush out of the room in the middle of his math class to get to the bathroom before his nausea did. He hadn’t told this to anyone. What was the point? And back then, truly, he thought it’d pass.

It didn’t.

It was a lingering, subtle thing, like a faint smell you can sense but not quite distinguish. It was more of an impression, a shiver and a ghostly touch on the back of his neck, a soft whisper from his mother’s makeshift grave telling him to leave. And sometimes, he did. Not for long—he went for a run around Perimeter Road, and then stopped on the sidewalk right before Fox Tower, contemplating the building. The idea of cutting off completely was tempting, every day more so, and he couldn’t tell why. He had everything—everything he could never have, and that was more than enough. Why leave? He didn’t know. He suppressed the thought like he did many, and then he came home.

It stayed there after graduation, and even as things moved on and on, for the better sometimes, his eyes always seemed to search for the way out. It didn’t mean he wasn’t happy, or content, or satisfied. And if one asked him to explain what that feeling was, he wouldn’t be able to put it into words. It was something to feel rather than imagine; the sick twist of his guts and the tension in his shoulders, back always hunched like preparing for a sprint escape. He thought he simply missed the adrenaline. So he went out and ran some more. Neil figured it might get rid of the sensation, and, perhaps, make him stay.

It didn’t.

It was a morning like many others when it violently fell upon him—or struck him, rather, with the ruthless brutality of a bodycheck. He was there, arms wrapped around Kevin’s body, his forehead pressed to Kevin’s nape and their breaths steady—but his hitched up, a little more each passing second, and he sat upright in the bed, abandoning Kevin’s familiar warmth to sort out his thoughts. It was panic, blunt, raw panic, the kind of panic he thought he’d left at Evermore. It took some time to calm down, and he considered going out to not wake up Kevin up, but it was safe, so very safe; Kevin rarely opened an eye no matter the noise.

He ran a gentle hand through Kevin’s hair and something hurt. Deep down, in his chest, and suddenly he was all tight muscles and nostalgia—missing a life he hadn’t even abandoned yet. It was overwhelming, unbearable, to miss Kevin that much, even when he was lying right next to him. Neil watched him sleep, breathless, and wondered when he had fallen in love. He couldn’t tell.

This was almost enough to make him stay, oh, almost. But his face twisted and he swallowed dry, withdrawing his hand from Kevin’s dark mess of a hair and timidly leaning over him to kiss his temple. He left his lips there, longer than he should have, perhaps, and when he pulled away he didn’t look back.

It was easy to gather his things and old habits were hard to kill. It was certainly muscle memory, or maybe a skill he had achieved somewhere along the way; but throwing t-shirts and money in his duffel bad had never been easier. One could thing he would have hesitated, like perhaps anyone would have, but he didn’t. Not once, not a second. It was too much of a routine and didn’t leave him room to think, not when his hands were reproducing something as familiar as shoving his entire existence in a bag that could barely fit anymore.

Once in the living room, he ended up face to face with a picture Danielle had taken; one at the beach during their last Fox team trip, when Kevin and Neil had rested their heads on each other’s without really thinking. By the time they realized, Danielle had already taken the shot, and she gave it to them as both a souvenir and a way to make up for invading their privacy. It was there, hanging in the corridor, and Neil couldn’t stop staring. He thought about, a long, long, long time—god, why was it so hard? Why would such a trivial thing as a picture slow him down like this? But then he remembered he wasn’t running from his father anymore, he was running from himself: he had all the time in the world. He took it down and collected the picture underneath the glass, then shoved it on the side pocket of his duffel bag—and, left.

* * *

Kevin couldn’t breathe. And he couldn’t remember when was the last time he couldn’t. Long, long ago, probably—and he realized he had been okay all this time, thanks to Neil, that he’d been brave and strong and determined. But now he couldn’t breathe, missing air, missing Neil, and he was gone, gone, he was _gone_. It felt like going back in time to all those nights they’d come close to this, to all these others when Kevin had abandoned himself to panic attacks. This one, though, was very different—he thought he might never recover, like Neil had stolen all there was to breathe when he’d left.

He called of course, but the phone rang on the nightstand and he stared, agape, wondering how someone like Neil, someone who liked reminding Kevin he’d always have his phone on him so that he wouldn’t worry, would purposefully leave it here. Neil wasn’t good with technologies, no; but he knew its worth, because it’d saved him more than once.

Kevin called the rest. The Foxes, Wymack, then their new exy teammates, but nobody seemed to know what he was talking about but his father. The worry in his tone was instant, and he couldn’t hide the gap of horror when Wymack asked if it was happening again. On the spot, Kevin couldn’t what. So many things had happened, to them, to Neil—so many things could possibly happen again. Evermore. The mafia. Disappearance for survival. Torture, torture, torture, and god did his heart ache at the thought of Neil _hurting_. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t. Wymack offered his help when he realized Kevin was crying. Not much, but quiet sobs, enough sniffling and jerky breaths that Wymack could tell he was. The tears streaming down Kevin’s face wouldn’t stop, and he felt terrible for that, he felt weak, he felt _hopeless_. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said, and he thought perhaps he’d never sounded that distressed, not even with Riko. “I can’t.” Wymack reiterated his offer, suggesting to drive to their place or call the police; search around in his car maybe; but Kevin took a minute of silence to decide and, finally, he said, “No. This is my job.”

He meant it. He ignored the Foxes’ calls and he guessed they’d all had the reflex to call Wymack when Kevin’s lack of information hadn’t been sufficient. He didn’t look, didn’t reply, didn’t answer the phone. Nothing could ever be more important than finding Neil.

It was hard to think about it. Harder even to set up a plan to have him back. He considered reaching to Ichirou, but it was childishly dangerous and he wasn’t sure Neil would have gone there willingly, after all the fight he had put up. Then he grabbed his keys and drove around the places he knew Neil enjoyed; a green, melancholic park; the bench at a crossroad from where sunsets were beautiful; Neil’s usual running tracks, and so on, until he realized there was nowhere left to search. So he went home—and cried again.

He thought that was it. That he was gone—for good. And really, he was. But then, an eternity later, as he was sitting head in his hands on the edge of their bed, on Neil’s side, sheets unmade and mattress long cold from his absence, a familiar sound echoed from the entrance of their flat. A door, being open, being shut. His eyes snapped open, swollen and red and burned by the tears, exhaustion getting the best of him and making him look older than he was. When he looked up, there was nothing in the doorframe, but he waited, and soft footsteps, visibly hesitant, finally turned into something he could grasp. Something like Neil, something like the boy he loved.

He was there, standing in the bedroom doorframe hand tight around the strap of his duffel bag. He didn’t speak for a long time, and it was obvious Neil had cried, too. “Kevin,” he simply said. Kevin didn’t answer. They simply stared, shock and confusion and relief slowly turning into anger and bitterness and hurt.

Then Kevin was rushing to him, grabbing the collar of his sweatshirt so hard Neil dropped his duffel bag—and when he was slammed against a wall, all but gently, Neil let out a soft breath that might have been surprise. “You,” Kevin said through gritted teeth, and his voice was trembling with all the rage he was trying to contain. From up close it was easy to tell Neil had been crying, and easier to tell Kevin had been too. He didn’t like showing that to Neil, but he couldn’t care less, not when the fucker was there, coming back like nothing had happened. “You,” he repeated, trying so hard to contain all the horrible things hanging on the edge of his lips.

“I couldn’t run,” Neil says, a little meekly, which probably means he feels guilty. And god does Kevin wish he does.

“You couldn’t run,” Kevin repeats, and suddenly there’s a hysterical laughter coming from the back of his throat. He’s losing it, entirely; sanity long gone, taken, perhaps, when Neil had disappeared. “You did. You did run, Neil. For six fucking hours you did.”

The twist on Neil’s face was hurt, and regret, and something like fear. Fear of not being able to run anymore, despite excelling in disappearance—now he was realizing he couldn’t leave as long as there would be a Kevin, and it tied him down forever. He was trying to decide if he liked it or not.

“I’m sorry,” he settled for. 

“Quit finding excuses and be responsible for once,” Kevin frowned, voice harsh and unforgiving. Neil found his so rough he figured he might get punched, and truly, he deserved it. But then Kevin turned his head and rested his cheek on his own shoulder, trying to gain control over his emotions—and failing. Neil realized he was holding back tears. They were hard to ignore when Kevin looked up again, oh, silent tears, rolling down with rage and panic. “I hate what you’re doing to me.”

Neil stared, breathless. Seeing Kevin cry wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was tears which had Neil’s name on them, tears he had caused and deserved. Tears that meant he cared, so fucking much, way more than he should have.

“Kevin,” Neil said, and slowly he raised a hand, letting Kevin the time to decide if it was okay or not. Kevin didn’t move, so Neil rested it on his wet cheek and stroked the skin with his thumb. He felt Kevin’s grip tighten around his t-shirt collar, but he didn’t ask him to let him go. He was okay with that, with whatever punishment Kevin had for him. “I’m here now.”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to do this again, and I know it. I can’t go to sleep thinking you might not be there in the morning anymore.” 

“What does that mean,” Neil stuttered, uneasy. For a second he thought that was the end. “Does that mean you’re done with me?”

Kevin’s face tightened with anger again, and it was so truly intimidating he couldn’t help but brace himself for a violence that never came.

“It means I’m blindly fucking in love with you.” His eyes were fierce and unforgiving, though red still, but they had never been this honest. Burning with rage and grief and affection, trying to conceal everything—or perhaps not trying that hard anymore. “It means I don’t fucking want you to pull that off and leave again. Do you hear this?”

Neil slowly nodded.

“You belong here,” Kevin said. And after a pause that was eternity, he added, “you belong with me.”

Neil leaned in, resting his forehead against Kevin’s, and his grip loosened around his shirt until it fully let go. Kevin grabbed his face instead, and they searched each other’s mouths in silence, shaken and breathless, lips brushing but never kissing. When finally Neil went for it, Kevin thought he might never be able to part.

“Please don’t leave me,” Kevin said against his lips, and it was a plea, a prayer—Kevin was begging. 

“I promise,” Neil said, eyes red and teary with hurt. 

In fact, he couldn’t quite promise such a thing, not a boy who had run all his life. But if he ever felt like running away, he thought—he would take Kevin with him no matter what.


End file.
